


Harvest Moon

by Calleva



Series: The Steapa Chronicles [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV), The Warrior Chronicles | The Saxon Stories - Bernard Cornwell
Genre: Angst, Eventual Romance, F/M, Friendship, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-22
Updated: 2019-09-22
Packaged: 2020-10-26 00:36:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20733350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Calleva/pseuds/Calleva
Summary: It's Harvest time and Steapa is brooding in the Two Cranes tavern in Winchester. The harvest moon overhead promises a good yield of crops, but might it also herald a new fruitfulness for the lonely warrior? Written for the adriananyday Facebook group.Based on the TV show and also the books by Bernard Cornwell which give more detail about Steapa.





	Harvest Moon

**Author's Note:**

  * For [The Steapa Sisters](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=The+Steapa+Sisters).

It was the harvest-time fair and Winchester was swarming with people, most of whom seemed to be in The Two Cranes tavern. Wuna wiped a damp lock from her eye and scooped up another clutch of full tankards. The place was loud with men's voices, so she was surprised to see the solitary figure by the fire silently staring into the flames. He was a big man, well-proportioned with close cropped hair. Everything about him said 'warrior'. "Hey soldier, can I get you anything?" If she could take his order with some others it would save her constantly having to weave among the close-packed tables. In reality, she realised, she wanted to talk to him; he was handsome, the kind of man who should not be alone.  
He looked up briefly and she saw the tiredness in his eyes. "An ale, and bread and cheese if you have it." He put two small battered coins on the table.  
A big man like that needed a good meal, Wuna thought. She put an apple onto the plate with the cheese. He seemed pleased at the sight of the platter which she had carefully and plentifully laid with the freshest in the house. "We honour our fighting men." She said.  
He nodded, "Thank you." and broke the bread in half. His hands were huge, but his movement precise. Wuna could imagine him, all lightning reflexes, powerful but not clumsy.  
"You going home for the harvest feasts?"  
He shook his head: no.  
"What's your name?"  
The big man opened his mouth just as a man at the next table who had been eyeing Wuna all evening said "That's Steapa - Steapa snotor, Steapa the clever!" and there was a gust of laughter from several places.  
"Well, nice to meet you, Steapa," Wuna gave up and made to leave.  
The big man ate his dinner, ignoring everyone.

* * * * * 

'Home' was not a place he knew much about. His mother had died when he was a baby and his father had shown him little love, expecting only that he work hard or suffer a tanned hide. Passing through the area, much later, Steapa and Uhtred had found the farm derelict. The Danes had left nothing alive including his old father and Steapa's beloved dog, the one thing he had loved as a child. He had buried its corpse with gentle hands, trying not to weep in front of his travelling companion.

The bread was crusty, and he realised a tooth was still wobbly in the gum, a legacy of a fight with some drunken Danes last week. He was weary, God knows, and if he had a home he would go to it, but he had no time to build one, and anyway what would he talk about to a woman? They weren't really interested in weaponry and war. His eyes unfocused and he suddenly saw himself on a farm, with a barn and stables and horses in a field. He saw chickens scratching about in the yard and a couple of good dogs keeping an eye on them. He had always loved animals. He could have made a living from breeding and training horses, had his life worked out differently. 

Steapa had planned to sleep in the tavern that night - there were several guards from the palace who would share with him, but first he needed to clear his head. Winchester glowed in the light of the large harvest moon which hung in the sky like a magical lantern. The evening air was cool - summer was almost over. It was Haligmonath, Holy Month, a time of rituals and feasts, ending in Michaelmas, St Michael's Day when all sensible people went home to their families and ate goose. Still, there would be goose served at the Palace, it was one of those religious feasts that the king liked to observe.

What was that noise? It sounded as if someone was tussling with an angry horse and the horse was winning. Curious, he went in the direction of the neighing and found himself in the palace stable-yard. A huge stallion, fine boned, Steapa noticed, and with a good head and eye, was plunging and sidestepping, shaking its head as if to rid itself of the halter. A young lad who couldn't have been more than sixteen winters was valiantly holding onto the rein and trying to calm the animal. Instinctively, Steapa stepped forward, "Here, let me." He took the rein from the lad's small hands and reached his free arm forward, cooing softly to the agitated horse. Its ears flicked forward and the large dark eye turned to him in curiosity. Steapa gently patted the top of the dark grey neck. "Nice horse, who owns it?"  
"I am hoping to give it to the King." The voice was musical and unbroken. Steapa glanced down and realised that he was talking to a girl. She was dressed in a tunic and hose and her dark hair was cropped short. There was a no nonsense air about her which indicated she knew about horses.  
"You don't know the King I'm guessing."  
"I saw him once, I was in the crowd when he came back after the victory at Cynuit"  
Steapa paused while he got the horse under control. "Where do you want him?"  
She pointed to the open stable door. Steapa led the great beast into the stable and fastened the door. The horse's head appeared straightaway over the half-door, alert, interested.  
"A lovely animal, but the King is no horseman. He needs a quiet, steady beast which won't shy easily."  
"My father will beat me if I take him back. He was going to kill him - Jericho was given to us as a young colt but we later realised why, I'm the only one who can handle him. Usually. I suppose you work here?" Steapa gave a brief rueful smile and shook his head.  
"So what do you do?" She was curious now.  
"I kill Danes."

The girl looked Steapa up and down and reddened, understanding. "I'm s-sorry, I didn't realise. My name's Editha, by the way. I've come from Readingum where we have a farm."  
"You rode here on your own and you're just going to ride back again?" Steapa was astonished.  
"Lots of travellers were coming to Winchester for the fair, it was easy to fall in with one group on the road and then gallop to the next. My own horse is safely resting, I'll go home tomorrow. I can't take Jericho back, they won't have him. He's bitten almost everyone. I can't bear the thought of him becoming food for dogs."  
"Leave him to me," Steapa assured her, thinking. "He's a good horse and will make a fine mount. But not for the King. I might take him myself. How much do you want?"  
He figured that she wouldn't ask for much if she couldn't take him home with her.  
"Oh you can have him if you promise not to harm him. He just takes a certain way of handling. He's half broken already, it won't take much to finish, he's so intelligent."

Steapa didn't like to say that a stallion with a lot of aggression had great potential as a war horse. Editha might not like the idea of that as horses were often 'harmed' in battle. He looked down at her and wondered how he could possibly have mistaken her for a boy. Her wide dark eyes were distinctly womanly. "Have you eaten?" He found himself saying. She shook her head.

Gently he caught her elbow and steered her across the yard. Following the smell of warm stew, he led her into the guardhouse kitchen. "You're lucky, there's a bit left. It's likely for Leofric but he must have gone for the night." No need to mention where Leofric probably was. The stew had been left in a covered bowl and was still warm. For such a slip of a thing, the little waif could certainly eat. He liked that she didn't pick at her food with dainty airs.  
"So where do you live?" She asked him.  
"Here. My place is at the King's side."  
"You're a royal guard then? And you also fight Danes." She gazed up at him wonderingly and he felt her awe. Perhaps this was a woman who was interested in war and weapons?  
"I also train the Princess Aethelflaed in combat. Now winter is coming there will be fewer battles, and more preparation for the spring when the Danes start marauding again."  
"Oh how I envy the Princess! Could you teach me a few fighting moves? I mean I know I have to go back...." Her voice trailed off sadly.  
"You might like to visit the fair first," he said, surprised at how easy it was to talk to this stranger. "You can sleep in here tonight, it's warm and no one will disturb you." He gathered up some cloaks that were hanging by an interior door and made them into a makeshift bed for her. "I will be outside, guarding. You will be quite safe."  
"I can't let you sleep outside in the yard. I thought I could sleep in the stable with Jericho."  
"You'd be safe enough," he said wryly, "but it's better in here. Don't worry about me. A warrior can sleep anywhere." He indicated the thick cloak around his shoulders.  
"If you're sure...."  
He uncorked the keg behind the door and poured her a cup of ale. "Here. And there's um, a latrine should you need it later." He blushed slightly and indicated with a shy wave of his arm.  
"I'd feel better if you drank with me." she said, draining her cup and holding it out for more. He filled two cups and sat on the bench beside her.  
"My name's Steapa." He told her, and in a dull voice added, "They call me Steapa snotor...."  
"I'm sure you are!" Her eyes were shining, encouraging him to speak. When he didn't, she understood.  
"Oh I see." She was silent for a moment, sensing his mood. On impulse, she leaned across and kissed him on the cheek.

It was cool outside but not yet cold. Steapa folded one of the spare cloaks and sat on it, leaning back against the wall of the guard house. The great moon cast a silvery light onto the yard. He liked this time of year and somehow felt that this was really the time of beginning, with the harvest. In reality the new year began the day after All Hallows Eve, the old Samhain festival - which no doubt the Danish bastards still kept - but for him the gathering in of the crops and the feasting and hearth fires spelled the real new year. He had never known his birth-date but always felt it was about now. This was the time when fortune's wheel turned and anything could happen. He smiled to himself and suddenly felt less tired than he had for ages. A few yards away a young woman slept. He would ride back with her to Readingum, keep her safe on the road, but not just yet. He had a feeling that one day, not so very far from now, he would be eating goose in his own farmstead on St Michael's Day, and a dog he had not yet met would gaze trustingly up at him with loving eyes, while outside that steel gray stallion would cover mares and produce a new generation of war horses. He might even grow rich.

He felt in his bones that the dark haired fairy lass in the kitchen would be part of all that.

He would have a home. At last.


End file.
